


Role Model

by 7PercentSolution



Series: Got My Eye on You [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Autism Spectrum, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 00:24:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5143511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7PercentSolution/pseuds/7PercentSolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one shot in which Greg learns something interesting about Sherlock- and himself- in the process</p>
            </blockquote>





	Role Model

"What do you mean, you have no new cases? Surely,  _something_  has happened? There are twenty four Murder Investigation Teams at the Met. At least one of those must be working on something fresh. Tell them to work with me."

If there was a trace of whine in the tone, Greg chose to ignore it. He knew Sherlock was bored, the young man had told him so, repeatedly.

"Sorry, it's an unexpected lull. I'm afraid I can't whip up a triple murder on command, Sherlock; life just isn't like that, or maybe I should re-phrase that- death isn't like that. The boys and girls at the Yard are keeping themselves busy with existing investigations, or digging through the cold case files that you've already rejected as too easy or too boring. In any case, I'm not working this weekend, so it's no good complaining to me."

He could hear the huff on the other end of the phone.

"Don't whinge, Sherlock. It's a lovely day out. Go for a walk, do something spontaneous. If you stay in looking at the four walls of your flat, you'll be tempted to do something silly, like that experiment that got you evicted last time."

"Lestrade, walking with no purpose is pointless."

"But, that's the idea – just enjoy the fresh air and sunshine."

"You don't understand. What seems a pleasant stroll to you is to me physical exercise that inundates my senses with useless information that serves no purpose. Why would I inflict that on myself?"

"Well, I'm sorry, but I can't help. I'm on babysitting duty. My sister Carole dropped Sam off this morning, and I've got him for the weekend. So, I'm not planning on going out anywhere that would amuse you. I have to keep an eye on him."

"I thought your wife doesn't get on with Sam."

"She's at her mum's today and tomorrow, helping prepare for her dad's birthday party on Monday night. I'll drop Sam off at Carole's on Sunday and join her at the party in Esher after work. Now that you know my every movement between now and then, what else can I do for you?"

He tried to keep the note of impatience out of his voice, but he was getting worried that he hadn't heard any noise coming out of the living room where Sam was supposed to be keeping himself amused, while Greg took the call in the kitchen.

"I'm coming over to your flat, should be there in about thirty minutes."

"Sherlock, I meant it. I'm not going to be free to do anything with you this weekend." The thought of dealing with one thirteen year old autistic child was challenging enough. Adding a thirty year old autistic adult, who sometimes reminded him of the thirteen year old was beyond comprehension.

"I'm not coming to see  _you,_  Lestrade. I want to meet Sam."

 _Oh, that's …unexpected._  He decided to proceed with caution. "Why?"

"Because I am curious, Lestrade, to know if there is anything I can help with. I mean I have some…experience of what it is like to be on the other side."

He hesitated. He knew that Sherlock would hear the hesitation and probably deduce the reasons why.

He heard a sigh from the young man. "You are going to be spending roughly 45 hours in the company of a young teenager on the Spectrum. At the very least, having someone there to take on a few hours of that should be greeted with relief. I don't know why everyone always assumes that I won't get on with children."

Greg sniggered. "Maybe that's because we see how you deal with adults who try your patience."

"Yes, but that's the whole point, isn't it?! They are adults, not children. I find children fascinating. The younger they are, the better; their minds haven't yet been corrupted by boring conventionality and predictability. And Sam just might be more interesting than most of the children I meet."

The older man was thinking the idea through, when Sherlock interrupted. "Lestrade, there are too many people who think that autistic children should be hidden away from any social contact. I think that is more about  _their_  social embarrassment than about what the child actually needs. I'm on my way." And the phone line went dead before Greg could come up with any good reason why Sherlock and Sam shouldn't meet.

He went back into the living room and realised what Sam had been doing to keep himself busy. The boy had taken all of his wife's books off the book shelves that he could reach, and was now re-organising them by size and colour. There were nearly ten small piles of books on the floor, and he was now neatly creating an eleventh.  _It's going to drive Louise nuts the next time she tries to find a book._  That said, he had to admit that the visual impact on the living room would an improvement. Maybe it's just a different way of seeing things, he mused.

He headed back to the kitchen to see if he had enough pizza in the freezer to feed three. He wasn't sure that Sherlock would eat, but it was worth a try. At least he wasn't working on a case. He made a salad, and pre-heated the oven and set the table.  _Maybe I can convince Sherlock to eat because he should show Sam the importance of good nutrition?_  The harder challenge would be getting Sam to eat at a table; he'd never managed that previously with his nephew.

By the time he returned to the living room, Sam was starting to put the piles of books back onto the shelves. "Here, let me help you. We need to finish putting these away before my friend arrives." Sam didn't look at him, but carried on putting the books up. Greg lifted a pile.

"No, not those. This pile goes next, and then three others."

"Why?"

A baritone voice answered. "Because they need to be in the right order, the order of the colours of the rainbow."

Sam didn't look up, but he just said, "Yes. It makes more sense than the shambles that his wife used to organise them. I mean, really, who just shoves books in without creating a sense of order? She obviously cares about colour more than reading, so she should like this."

Greg had to agree- Louise was quite particular about the colours she used to paint the living room. “I’ve got no time or energy to do much reading,” was something she’d routinely say. And whatever books she’d accumulated over the years, she just shoved them wherever there was a space. Sam was clearly observant of her behaviour. _Like someone else I know._

He smiled a greeting to Sherlock, who had let himself into the flat. He'd given the young man a key years ago. "Better that you have a key than you pick my locks; if you want in, you'll get in; just don't do it when Louise is here," Greg had sighed as he handed over the copy.

Sherlock bent over and picked up the first of three yellow piles and handed it to Sam who slid them onto the shelf. Greg started to reach for the nearest of the other two yellow piles, but Sherlock stopped him. "The other one- it's in order of colour saturation."

Sam stopped and tilted his head. He still wasn't looking at either of the two men. "What's 'saturation'?"

Sherlock handed him the correct pile. "Related to chromaticity, saturation tells us how a colour looks under different lighting conditions. For example, your bedroom painted a solid colour appears different at night than in daylight. Over the hours of the day, although the colour is the same, your eye sees it differently because the light is different."

Sam thought about this for a while as he pushed the books onto the shelf. "Yes. That’s true." He nodded to himself. “The colour doesn’t change, but the light level does. Interesting.”

Sherlock handed him the last of the yellow piles.

Greg just watched. He would not have thought to use words like 'saturation' or 'chromaticity' which would be, he thought, beyond Sam's vocabulary. Yet, the boy had grasped the concept. And Sherlock had not talked down to him, just helped him understand the words by relating them to the way he saw his own bedroom.

"Sam, this is Sherlock. He's having lunch here and spending some time with us. While I get lunch, why don’t you get to know each other?" Sam just kept putting the books back on the shelf, and Greg wasn't sure if he'd understood.

Sherlock saw Greg's uncertainty. He gave a gentle smile. "Sam, what's my name?"

"Sherlock." The young teenager slid the last pile of books into the shelf, but he didn’t look up.

"Yes, your uncle didn't know if you realised it was my name, because you didn't look at him."

"That's stupid." He sounded like any other thirteen year old, dismissive of adults’ assumptions.

Sherlock smirked. "Well, yes, I have accused him of being that at times. But people like him need to use their eyes, because they don't understand things the way we do."

"You're different. You're like me?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm." Sam got up and stood back to look at the results. “You a detective, too? Like him?”

“I am a Consulting Detective, which means I don’t work for the Metropolitan Police. I get involved only when the work is actually interesting. I’m better at it than he is.”

Rolling his eyes, Greg retorted. “Enough of that, Sunshine. At least I get paid for my work.” He could smell the pizza now, and knew he needed to go turn the oven down or lunch would be burnt offerings.

He could hear the smirk in the baritone as Sherlock said "I’ll let you decide which of us is the better detective; we’ll run a little experiment. Go into the kitchen. Find seven objects, in rainbow order, but start with green. Then we’re going to see if your uncle can find them any better than I can. So he knows, what colours will you be looking for and in what order?"

"Green, blue, indigo, violet, red, orange and yellow."

"That's right. Just walk around the kitchen and see them, but don't touch them or move the object; just remember where they are. You need to keep them secret, so don't tell, we’re going to have to guess. In fact, I’m so much better than him at detection, I’ll let him go with you in the kitchen so he can finish preparing lunch. So, don’t let on what you are selecting. I’ll wait here, and then when you have decided about your objects, then call me in for lunch."

oOo

 _At least he is sitting down with us. Maybe he'll eat a slice of pizza without realising he is doing it._ For once, Greg was thinking about Sam, not Sherlock. Sam's attention usually wandered when it came to eating at a table. Carole had given up trying to have family meals pretty soon after Sam was able to sit in a high chair. As a baby, he fussed non-stop and wouldn't eat, and made life difficult for her and her husband, Steven. He came home tired after his work as an IT project manager, and needed some peace and quiet. So, over the years, Sam had got used to eating on his own- and rarely at a kitchen table. Nine times out of ten, he was playing on his Nintendo DSi at the same time as he ate.

Yet, here he was now, sitting patiently, watching Sherlock who was across the table from him. Studiously avoiding looking at Sam, the tall brunet was instead just looking everywhere else in the kitchen. "You're sure that every one of the seven objects is in plain sight?"

"Yes."

"New rule- no words. No ‘yes’ or ‘no’, just nod your head for yes and shake your head for no."

Sam started to say, "okay" but was cut off by Sherlock. "No words, just nods or shakes."

That got Sam nodding. That meant Sherlock had to look at him briefly, with his peripheral vision, but he avoided direct eye contact.

"So, the first object is green."

Sam nodded vigorously. He was watching Sherlock's eyes wandering around the kitchen.

"There are at least three possibilities. I'm going to deduce which one is right. Deduction means 'figuring something out'. I'm very good at it."

Lestrade smiled as he deposited a plate in front of the two of them, with a steaming slice of pepperoni pizza. He watched as Sam picked up the slice and bit off a piece while looking at the same area of the kitchen that Sherlock was looking at.

“You get to go first, Lestrade.”

Greg’s eye was drawn to the same area. There were at least four objects on the counter top that were green: a pile of paper napkins, a jug, and the oven glove that he’d used to take the pizza out of the oven. At a stretch, he’d call the shade of the bowl a teal, which he supposed was a kind of green. Which one would Sam have chosen?

Remembering what Sherlock had said about saturation, he opted for the deepest colour green. “It’s the paper napkins.”

"Nope.” Sherlock gave a pop to the p in the word and smirked, “It's the green pepper sitting in that vegetable basket."

"YE…" Sam stifled the word and just nodded vigorously. But, as he chewed, he couldn't stop himself from asking "how?"

Sherlock looked down at his own plate with a furrowed brow, and somewhat suspicious, he tore off a small piece and ate it. He didn't look at Sam. "Does your question 'how' mean how did I figure out it was the pepper and not the napkins, the oven glove or the jug? And remember, nods or shakes only."

Sam's left hand shook a bit. Lestrade knew from that his nephew was excited. He was enjoying this game. The boy nodded again as he chewed his next bite of pizza, and watching Sherlock's face as he pulled off another piece of his own and popped it into his mouth.

"Yeah, Sherlock, I want to know the answer to that question, too."

The younger man smirked. "I will tell you both when we are done. Now, onto blue. There are no fewer than fifteen items in plain sight that are blue, so this one will be harder. Lestrade, your wife really likes home decorating, doesn't she?"

Now it was Greg's turn to nod. "Blue’s her favourite colour, so I'm lucky the whole flat isn't covered in the stuff."

“Got any ideas?”

There was the usual trace of superiority in Sherlock’s tone that goaded Greg.

 _So, if it isn’t saturation, then what else would drive Sam’s choices?_ There were too many to consider. After almost a minute of thinking, Greg threw up his hands in mock surrender. “I conceded the point- haven’t a clue. If I had to guess, then I’ll pick the sponge.”

Sherlock was suppressing a grin. “Wrong again. And I don’t _guess_ , as you know.”

Sherlock moved his gaze around the kitchen, still keeping Sam within his peripheral vision. After a minute, he looked back down at his plate, and said quietly, "It's the tea towel on the drying rack beside the sink, isn't it?"

This time Sam just gave a rapid nod.

"Right, onto indigo. This one is going to be harder for your uncle, isn't it Sam?"

Sam nodded; he squirmed a bit in the chair, and bit his lip. He was clearly excited.

Greg wondered if he actually knew what the colour indigo was apart from a really dark blue. He looked around in vain; Louise preferred the light blues and pastel colours.

Sherlock said, "Well, Sam, you and I know what it is, but clearly your uncle doesn't know, does he?"

This time Sam nodded furiously and his eyes lit up in amusement. He took a quick look at Greg out of the corner of his eye, then looked away and smiled.

_OH. My God, Sam actually smiled. Wow. I can't remember the last time I saw him smile. I must remember to tell Carole._

"Uh, you're right; haven't a clue, Sherlock, so put me out of my misery."

"As ever, you see but do not observe. Sam and I know that there's actually only one item in the kitchen that qualifies as indigo- the jeans you're wearing."

Greg laughed out loud at that. And saw Sam nodding furiously.

The rest of the game carried on as the pizza slices disappeared without anyone really thinking too much about it. At the end, Sherlock explained that he could tell when he looked at the right object by seeing Sam's eyes- his pupils dilated in excitement when Sherlock got it right. That led to a detailed explanation as to why pupils dilate and constrict, and how it affected vision, and why pupils dilate when a person is excited. Lestrade questioned how Sherlock had seen it; "you never looked at Sam directly."

"I don't have to; I can watch when he isn't looking at me, and learn everything I need to know." Now he looked straight at Sam, who met his gaze for just a moment before looking away, still a little uncomfortable about it. "And, Sam, if you get good at it like I am, then the other person won't even know you are doing it. It's safer that way." Sam looked away from Sherlock's direct gaze, but kept him in his peripheral vision.

"Yeah. I get it." He sounded a little amazed.

And Greg was pleased to have learned something new about both his nephew and his consulting detective- more gets done through a sideways glance and the challenge of a puzzle than by telling someone what to do or how to do it.


End file.
